away with titles and replaced its nobility with clockers who’d turned out just as feckless if not as inbred, Ikaras still had a full complement of blue-blooded young men and women with lofty titles and nothing much better to do than fritter away their time and money. Duelling had been popular for a time at least. Until too many ended up with serious holes in them or worse, and the Ikaran king had declared duels, along with the gambling that seemed to be the spur for most of them, illegal. That hadn’t stopped events like this, only driven them from grand palaces to dingy little backrooms where the nobles’ finery seemed incongruous in the smoke that leaked through from the rank bars that fronted them.
This particular lot didn’t seem out of the ordinary, from what Vocho had gathered since they’d arrived here a few weeks previously. Ikarans were less foppish and more direct than Reyens, perhaps, but no less vicious, or devious, when it came to it. But of course he and his sister had an advantage – a duelling guild education. Not to mention that in Ikaras ladies did not duel, ever. Ladies did not pick up anything with a sharp edge, or not in public at any rate. Vocho’s surprise for Bear.
“My sister, I think, could take any one of you.”
Bear grinned as though that was exactly the answer he’d been expecting. He pointed to a pigeon-chested young man in the corner, wheezing over a water pipe almost as big as he was. Bear waved him over and whispered in his ear. The young man nodded as though this was no surprise and started making himself ready. This seemed to include copious draughts of what was presumably something to sober him up – the water pipes’ more insidious ingredients made all sorts of things dance in front of the smoker’s eyes.
“Whoops,” Kacha said, and metal rang on stone again.
A few muttered about ladies not duelling, but Bear sliced a glare around the room and they all shut up.
“You’re on.” Vocho picked up his sword and threw it to Kacha, who caught it neatly, unsheathed it and kicked off the heels she’d sworn about so much earlier.
To Vocho’s consternation, Bear didn’t look the slightest bit surprised. He nodded to one of his cronies while the rest made some room, and after a few moments Bear’s duellist stepped forward looking far too at home with his sword.
The duellers sized each other up, before Kacha gave a brief salute and went for the other. The pokey backroom was soon drowned in the noise of swords clashing, the feet of the crowd stamping, a flurry of side bets between Bear’s cronies. Bear’s man was better than he looked – the pigeon chest disappeared, the shoulders came back. He was nifty on his feet too and had a style that seemed to confound Kacha at every turn. She was fighting in the Icthian style, a time-honoured method that was loose, fast flowing and devious, using not just the sword but everything else in range too – feet, elbows, handy bits of furniture. Above all it was elegant, which was not a description you could apply to Bear’s man.
His sword was of a style Vocho hadn’t seen before but had heard about. A palla they called it, a brutal-looking thing with a thick curved blade and not much of a guard, made for quick killing via brute strength not stylish swordplay. He used it far better than his looks had led Vocho to believe too, in a style Vocho had never seen before, a series of savage chops that appeared to give no thought to defence, yet somehow Kacha never got a touch on him. The man wasn’t quick as such, but he was good.
Still, Vocho had every confidence in his sister. She hadn’t been the guild master’s assassin all that time for nothing. She didn’t like using other people’s blades, but as hers were still tucked up safe at the guild where they couldn’t get at them, she didn’t have much choice. She looked like she was missing the dagger she often kept in her off hand though, and was hard pressed to keep her guard up. She was quick enough, but if this went on too long she’d tire against the heavier blade and then he’d have her.
Naturally, Kacha being the bloody perfect person she was, she had a plan. She grabbed a bottle of something from a low table with her